Little Brother
by jennii.b
Summary: Set mid-Crystal Skull, this explores the possibility that a man with looks, charm, and love of the ladies might well have more than one child born on the wrong side of the blanket. There's a friendship to be struck between the boys. And an understanding for both to reach in regards to their highly-favored father.
1. Chapter 1

Marian was dragged out of the tent, meeting her offspring with a loving hug and instant recriminations.

Jones's was a bit slower coming out; it was harder for them to meet.

When Indy glanced over and saw him at the edge of the group his face fell.

"Oh, Jesus, Sanford. I'm so sorry."

He lifted one shoulder, shrugged. To Indy he looked near to tears. Dr. Jones went to the young man, wrapping his arms around the thinner shoulders.

"I wrote you a letter," he whispered. "I thought you were on a dig or something when I couldn't reach you. I wasn't even worried yet."

Sanford nodded morosely.

Marian's eyebrows were up near her hairline when he turned to look at her. He sighed, dropping his protective embrace from around the man beside him so that he could drape his shoulder more casually.

"Your son is one of the few historians in the world familiar with the languages we need, Doctor Jones," the Russian woman told him. "He's been quite useful in helping us to decipher the clues we need."

"I didn't realize who they were, what they were after," he looked up at him, worried. "I thought it was Mac I was helping. He said you'd recommended me. He said..."

Jones looked daggers at his former friend and colleague.

"I've been watching over him myself, mate. Don't get all bent out of shape with me!"

Jones kept his arm around his son and turned to Marian. "San, this is Marian Ravenwood, Abner Ravenwood's daughter...an old friend of mine. Marian, this is my son, Abram Sanford-Ranghort. Mutt, my boy. San, this is Marian's boy, apparently...Mutt Williams."

"Mutt," Abram nodded as she held out her hand and they shook like they hadn't been living in each other's pockets for days now. "Marian." He savored the name, remembering. They could have been related, except that Abram's dark hair was perfectly rain straight. Indy could see the moment the locks fell into place. His mother had resented Marian's name. Their affair hadn't lasted long - - they'd dated for about six months right after he and Marian had...well, it was water under the bridge. It sufficed to say that he hadn't quite been over Marian at the time and Abram's mother hadn't dealt with that well. When she'd seen a picture and realized how much she resembled the other woman it was over. She'd swept out of his life – - just a few weeks pregnant with the child he wouldn't meet for fifteen years.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Marian's breeding required. They saw the irony in being acquainted without realizing how intersected their life journeys had been. San hadn't-and never would have-put Marian together with this beautiful woman he'd been calling Mary Williams. Mary was too common, Marian too evil. This woman was neither.

"Touching, I'm sure," their captor announced. "Now, Dr. Jones, you will be looking at our skull?"

Abram sighed. "Be careful, Dad," he hissed under his breath. "I know you don't believe in hokey religions..."

As they made their way through the jungle at a run it was Mutt's arm that kept Abram from pitching head-first into the sand trap when Marian called a halt. "Thanks," he grinned up at him as Indy sank a bit further.

He was the one who grabbed the snake, looking into its eyes and identifying it as one whose bite wouldn't do much damage while the shorter man had wrestled with a vine. "Got it," he called. Mutt glanced over, amazed and incredulous that the slighter man had managed to pull a vine free with his bare hands when he couldn't hack one away.

He grinned at the use of native resources. "Good one," he called, shouldering the heavy snake for the run back.

In the muck Indy had revealed to Marian that Abram's mother had kept him from him most of her life. Abram's innate love of history had led him to research his own - -leading him to knock on Indy's door a few months shy of his sixteenth birthday. His father had adored the boy and his son had comforted him through that last year of his life when they'd lost Brody and finally the man who'd managed to link them.

"He's never forgiven me for his birth," Jones told the woman he'd always loved. "Abram hasn't spoken to his mother in years. Blames her that he didn't get to know his grandfather sooner."

"It's hard, Indy. I know."

When the children came back they revealed the truth.

Abram's jaw dropped. "I have a little brother?" he asked. "I have a little brother, too!" he growled. "Jesus! How many more of us are there? Are you really that careless or are you just stupid? Do you have any idea how many children you might have?"

Mutt balked. "What do you mean? What are you talking about?"

Marian was shaking her head. "If your father was with your mother after I left, that would make you Henry's little brother. You have an _older_ brother."

"Oh, _hell,_ no. Just leave him where he is. If the snake doesn't eat him maybe something else will."

Indy pointed his finger at Sanford. "Don't take that tone with me. I _was not _keeping this from you. I promised you no secrets. If there's something you don't know it's because we haven't gotten to it or I was kept in the dark, too."

He crossed his fingers. Another belch below the surface had him hitting his knees beside Mutt. "Grab the damn snake, Dad!"

"Watch your mouth," he ordered instead.

As he eventually climbed from the muck their captors showed up, led by Wilkins.

They argued about school in the truck.

"He's not in school!" Mutt objected.

"_'He's' _already got a degree in history and is working on his doctorate." Abram jeered back.

"You can't fix motorcycles all your life," Indy scolded in a superior tone.

This sparked a little respect from baby brother. "You fix motorcycles?" he asked. "Well, that's cool."

"Thank you."

"It's not a career," Indy objected.

San shrugged. "Sure it is. Anything with a motor will eventually need a tune-up. And as long as there are people around to drive them, I don't see them going away. They're too handy in too many places, too cool in too many others, to go the way of the dodo. You make a good living at it?" he asked.

Mutt shrugged modestly. "I get by."

"No," Jones insisted.

"What happened to 'follow your bliss' and 'if that's what makes you happy' and 'college isn't for everybody'?" Mutt asked.

"Did you say that?" San asked his dad. "That's very open-minded of you. I'm proud."

"That was before you were my kid!" Jones shouted at his eldest. The Russian in the truck rolled his eyes. These Americans. Too much money, not enough to do. And they'd raised children to talk back to them. If the taller boy was his he'd catch the back of his hand for that tone. The thicker boy would have been taken out behind the woodshed and taught respect for his old man. There would be no ganging up. Both would obey his every whims.


	2. Chapter 2

Mutt stepped into the dim church hall and surveyed the handiwork. The decorator his brother had hired had kicked ass. There was blue silk and pale yellow tulle draped over everything that would hold up under it. The chairs were neatly lined, there were candles everywhere, it was spectacular. So thinking he sank into the chair beside where Sanford was just sitting, staring morosely at a stained glass entryway. The guy knew how to dress—he had to give 'im that. He'd rolled up the sleeves of the light blue dress shirt so that pale forearms showed below. A few buttons were open to reveal the stark white undershirt beneath. The jacket to the dark blue suit was draped over another chair. Perfectly shined shoes, perfectly pleated pants.

"Whatcha thinkin'?" he asked his, leaning sideways to bump his shoulder.

He shook his head, not meeting Mutt's glance. "Not much."

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing," he told him.

"The room looks great. Church does, too. They were delivering flowers when I left."

Sanford nodded. "Right on time," he said absently.

"Is that what you're wearing?" the older man asked.

He shrugged. "This is a new suit. Your mom picked out a tie for me. You, too, so you better know where it is. I'll get put back together in a few minutes. It won't take a second." He shrugged again and worked his jaw from side to side.

"Look," Mutt huffed. "Spill it. What are you doing in here all by yourself?"

San shrugged again. This time it looked like he might cry and Mutt felt bad.

"It's a lot all at once, isn't it?"

He nodded.

"But they're happy, and that's what really matters, right?" he asked.

San nodded again. "She's the love of his life," he said softly.

Mutt heard it. Beyond the normal and expected, something was going on deep inside of the man next to him. His brother.

"She'll make him happy," Mutt reassured him.

"I know," San affirmed, sitting up. He nodded quickly. "She will. She will."

Insight hit like a freight train. He reached for San's shoulder and rubbed it reassuringly. "It doesn't change anything. It doesn't make what he had with your mother less important."

San offered him a wry smile, one too tight to be amused. He was grateful for the statement. "My mother would never have made him happy. She wouldn't have thought to even try. He was just the next one in line." Again the young man shrugged. He bent for the bag he'd tucked under the table and stood, ducking to press a firm hand to Mutt's shoulder. "It's okay. They can be happy now."

Mutt wasn't satisfied. "Are you really okay with this?"

Sanford nodded at him.

When he stood they were nearly eyeball-to-eyeball for once. Mutt couldn't help reaching out to take his elbows, shaking his arms a little. "He loves her, he really does," he said out loud again. These past weeks had brought into question all the things he'd thought he'd known about his mother - - about his life. "We'll make it work."

Sanford nodded.

"Please don't make me go big brother on you and beat it out of you," he joked.

Finally a smile.

"Try it someday, Junior. I wouldn't have taken crap off of you even if I'd known you existed before I grew a backbone, I certainly won't entertain any doubts about kicking your ass now." He arched a brow. "Come on," he finally told him. "Let's go watch your mom marry my dad."

"My dad, too."

"Don't remind me."

It was only a few days into the newlyweds honeymoon when the youngest Henry Jones let himself into the house where his parents would now live as a married couple.

"Are you packing your stuff?" Mutt asked when he walked by a dusty chamber and caught Sanford filling boxes.

"Yeah. I'm going to take some time and do some stuff."

"What kind of stuff?"

He shrugged. He was a big shrugger. Mutt had figured out that they could mean absolutely anything.

"I think I'll head back to New York for a while and see what's happening there. Then? Who knows?"

"Why? When did you decide this?"

Another damned shrug. "It's been fermenting in my brain. I need some time off, some time to myself."

"Are you looking for another dig?"

Sanford shook his head. "I'm looking for myself," he said under his breath as tears burned the back of his eyes. "I guess I just got used to being the only one. I was special. He loved me. Best of all, I think, he loved me."

"Okay, so what changed?" Mutt didn't understand where this was going.

"I got a brother," he said drily.

Mutt nodded. "So now he doesn't like you anymore?"

"Now he doesn't like me best. I'm a reminder of a past that your mother won't appreciate having in her face day and night."

"I don't think that's how they're going to see it."

"We'll see. They don't get back for two weeks. Don't worry. I'm not going to disappear on your watch."

"Are you going to stay with your mom?" Mutt asked two days later.

San shook his head absently. "I don't get along with my mother."

"Yeah, moms can be the pits," he agreed.

He leveled him with a withering stare. "Your mother nags you because she loves you. Mine is just some strange creature that occupied the second floor of the house where I grew up."

"Nothing in common, huh?" he asked.

He shrugged. Always the shrugger. "I wouldn't know. I don't know anything about her or what makes her tick." Mutt's younger brother's eyes were blank when he looked at him - -like a shark's. "I know she has salon appointments once a week. That she was a natural blonde until her hair started fading. That she has blue eyes and prefers silver beaded evening gowns to all others." He shrugged again. "We were always a beautiful woman and a little boy living in the same building. Not even living together. I made good grades. I took the right classes, learned golf and tennis at the club, played the appropriate instruments. But I didn't do them because they interested _me._ Or even _her._ It was just what everybody's kids did. So I had to do it, too."

"Poor little rich kid?" he snickered.

Sanford nodded morosely. "Poor little rich kid. My housekeeper loved me," he said, brightening. "She took me to my dance classes sometimes when she had to go downtown. She'd sit on the steps to the studio and watch me dance. Her face would just glow. And she'd always clap for us. Those were the best times. Otherwise I'd take the car to the saddle club or the fields and Johnny would bring me home again. But he couldn't get out to watch my progress or talk to the teachers and instructors and pros. He was just always there for me. He'd leave a sweet on the backseat, sometimes a carton of orange juice or bottle of ginger ale. He loved me, too, I think. Or at least he felt sorry for me."

"Your mother didn't take you at all? Never listened to you play or went to a recital?"

"There were no concerts, no recitals. It was all private lessons with exclusive teachers, not the group classes like everybody else took. My Hannah was the only one who ever saw me play or practiced the steps with me."

"Hannah?"

"Mother's housekeeper. She died when I was thirteen. That's the year I stopped going anywhere but school. I was old enough to make life difficult. Three times of evading Johnny in the school line was enough to convince them that I really wasn't going to my lessons. I think at that point my mother was fed up. I read the papers and listened to the news and preferred museums and libraries to parties. When I found my birth certificate it blew up and the pieces are still scattered far and wide."

"You seem to get along with Dad."

"I love Dad. He makes it easy to love him. He and Grandpa didn't really get along all the time, but there was something there…under the nagging and the toughness, something real existed."

"I'll never know him."

"He was a good man. I could have grown up here and been left to develop my own interests. I may not have learned to play every classical instrument but I don't think that they'd have complained about time spent in libraries or looking up old languages and cross referencing them through others in that region or time period. Which is what I did a lot of the time when I was lonely. I've found three hundred mistakes. Translations that have been accepted that shouldn't have been."

"Did any of them make you happy?"

"Saying that someone else was wrong? No. Discovering something, seeing a pattern emerge and getting a glimpse at the mind that created thoughts and cared enough to document them? Always."

"Bet Dad was proud."

He nodded. "It wasn't just the anthropology, though. It's something deeper sometimes. I think he'd be just as happy with me if I decided to be a doctor. Or an equestrian. Or a chef."

Mutt nodded. "How old were you when you met?"

"Fifteen. For the first time in my life somebody just wanted me. I came here on my own. It was real late when I found the house and they didn't know who I was. I just appeared out of a rainstorm. I had the cab driver wait for me so that he could take me to a hotel. I never needed it."

"He took you in?"

He nodded, tears he steadfastly refused to shed burning again. "He and Grandpa. They were absolutely stunned. I introduced myself and they recognized my name. I'd just been published - -one of the goofs revealed had led to a different possible meaning for an age-old belief and it was news in our circle. Then I introduced myself as Stella Sanford-Ranghort's son. Grandpa just nodded and said 'that's nice' and went back to what he was doing. Dad was taking my coat and he knew. Right then he knew. He took my chin and looked at me, then he took my cheeks in his hands and kissed my forehead." The tears fell then. "He'd been fussing about how late it was and how cold and what was I doing out by myself and where was my guardian. I was a skinny, scrawny little thing then. Hadn't shot up yet. Hadn't filled in _at all_. Didn't look like this. Then he heard me and he just stopped. He just took me in and never looked back."

"Like father like son?" Mutt asked. "He must have been proud as all hell of you - -knowing what you were and what you'd done already at fifteen."

"You know that look he gets on his face when he's putting together pieces or he's found something really cool or he's talking about something exciting? The one where he grins like a loon and just glows? He loves me like that. I slipped into a lecture hall before one of his talks one day and he was just going on and on and on just below the podium, talking to some other professors and some kids. When I got closer I realized that he was talking about me - - something I'd said. It wasn't related to anything he was presenting. It didn't even have anything to do with archeology. Just some offhand comment that I'd made that amused him and stuck with him so he had to share it. I'd never been loved by anyone like that. I resent that. I resent my mother for it. For all the years I didn't know him. Maybe he would have left. Maybe he wouldn't have stuck around for me either, but I like to think that maybe he'd have found a way to come back to me. Or to take me to where he could be closer to me. She didn't even let him try. She didn't want me. She didn't love me or pay particular attention to me or do any of the nurturing things that mothers do. I was expected to make good grades and dress well and comport myself like a Sanford. But she didn't want me to be the best for me, she wanted it for the family name. I hate her."


	3. Chapter 3

"Yo," the voice at the bike shop answered.

_Professional, real professional, _Sanford complained in his head.

"Tell Mutt to wash the grime off his hands and come to the phone," he replied instead.

There was a grunt, a clash, a clank, and then he heard - - faintly - - "Yo, Mutt. You're wanted on the phone. Some guy with a prissy accent."

Mutt knew who it had to be. His eyes rolled in simultaneous exasperation, just as his brother's did. The sources of frustration weren't quite the same…

"Dude," he sang out when he got to the phone.

"You got any money saved up?" Sanford asked without preamble.

"Yeah, some. Why?" That was a weird way to start a conversation, even for the youngest known Jones.

"You need a suit."

"I gotta suit. I still got the suit from Mom's wedding. That work?"

"You need a _dark _suit. You've got to fill in some gaps in your wardrobe."

"Why?" Mutt asked suspiciously.

"I've got an offer. A meeting. Tomorrow afternoon. Could use a wingman."

"You in trouble?" Mutt asked quietly, shifting as though turning his back on the other guys would make the conversation more private. "You need cash?"

Sanford laughed in his ear. The smug sonofabitch.

"No. And yes. More than you've got, greaser. You in or out?"

Mentally he shifted things in his head. "Yeah. I'm in. I'll meet you."

Sanford shook his head again. "I'll pick you up. Where we're going you don't show up on a bike."

"What the hell is this about?" Mutt asked when he slid into Sanford's car the next morning.

"Whatcha know about Atlantis?" the younger man asked.

Now there was a snort of derision from the elder of the two. "That everything about it is crap. It's a made-up legend, San," he started. "You can't believe in that stuff."

Sanford kept quiet, his eyes on the road as he merged onto the interstate.

"San! You don't believe in it, do you?"

Now the taller boy shifted a sardonic glance toward him. "Hell, no. But my benefactress does. And for her to fund my own expedition I'll put up with a whole heap of fairy tales and fantasy."

Mutt's face fell. "To pretend to search for something that doesn't exist? How does this help your rep?"

"I have an ulterior motive," the other man shrugged. "I'm not proud."

"What are you really looking for?"

"Christopher Columbus."

Now the elder brother laughed long and hard. "Christopher Columbus died old and crazy and safe in his bed in Italy, San. No conspiracy theories, no questions. You don't even like him. What is this about?"

San reached over the seat for his attaché case and dumped it in his brother's lap. "Just for the record, having an older brother is a pain in the ass."

Mutt dug through yellowed papers and hand-drawn copies of what looked like journal entries. Maps, directions, landmarks, instructions.

"Is this from Grandpa Jones?"

"Yep. Briefly he tangled with some Columbus crap on his quest for the grail. There's a theory that Columbus might have had a sideline going - - been after the grail, too."

"But you don't believe that?"

"Nope."

"So what gives?"

"So while I was cataloguing some of Granddad's papers I ran across the stuff he tossed out as junk. And some of it's good stuff, Mutt." A quick check and the car was headed toward the off-ramp. "Some of it's true junk, but some of it he just discredited because it wasn't what he was after."

"The grail."

"The grail," San agreed. "So I kept a lot of it. Have been going over a lot of it."

"And how does Atlantis fit in with the Grail & Christopher Columbus?"

"Some broad wants eternal youth. Eternal beauty. She thinks she's got a lead on Atlantis. I'm feeding that naiveté because what came to her and what came to me are remarkable similar."

"So where are we going?"

"South America."

"Hmmm."

"I like South America."

"I thought you'd only been there the one time."

Sanford shrugged. To be fair that was true. The only time either of them had been was the trip that had rocked their world. Literally.

Mutt was still getting used to the double life his father and brother lead. Teaching paid the bills - - barely - - and their positions in the college's anthropology department gave them entré to some pretty spectacular circles. His brother's car was put to shame by the grandeur of the building he pulled up in front of. Sanford hopped out, leaving the ignition running.

"I won't be real long today," he told the waiting bellhop. "Don't bury it."

Mutt jogged to catch up with him at the elevator. He'd gotten distracted by the pieces in the lobby…by the lobby itself.

"You have got to be shitting me," he hissed when they stepped on to the manned device and his brother ordered the attendant to the Penthouse.

"Hold your breath," Sanford advised him.


	4. Chapter 4

Their hostess was as spectacular as her surroundings. Priceless artifacts from every civilization were housed in glass-covered nooks around the serpentine walls. There didn't seem to be a rhyme or reason or single obsession. Opulence and _more_ seemed to be the order of the day.

"Sanford, darling," she cooed as they were shown inside. The butler closed the thick library doors and left them.

Gretel Abernathy tugged on Sanford's hands, drawing him down so that she could kiss both cheeks. "A drink, my dear? A toast?" she asked. "Oh! What if I open a bottle of champagne?"

"Brandy's fine for me," Sanford countered. His brows raised in Mutt's direction.

"Oh. Uh. Me, too. Just brandy."

Sanford rolled his eyes and strolled over to the covered manuscript on the antique desk. He couldn't help but slip on the gloves and turn a few pages.

"Reading about the fall of Samson, Gretel?" he asked.

She smiled. "I love a good tale of lust and tragedy, you know…" She winked at Mutt as she handed him his drink. She continued to cup Sanford's, warming it in her palms before taking the tiniest of sips. He saw the sweet pink tongue dart out to touch the liquor, as he knew he was supposed to.

"Tell me who you've brought me," she simpered as she passed the glass over. She flounced over to perch on one of the couches flanking a low table. "Sit here, dear, and tell me about yourself."

Mutt decided to follow his brother's tactic and sat opposite her. Sanford reclined back, obviously comfortable here.

"This is my associate, Henry Jones the Third. You know the reputation of the family at the university?"

Gretel's eyes lit up. "Oh. I do. Your brother? A cousin?"

She spent a long time looking at the young men before her. They favored enough that no one would question the relation. Both had dark hair, although Jones's was nearly black and Sanford's was more chestnut. The newcomer was slightly shorter, built a bit thicker. His face would probably always be the more instantly attractive, although Sanford was well-able to catch a lady's eye.

"Brother," both answered at once.

"How droll," she cooed, eyeballing Mutt again. He nearly blushed at the blunt interest in her perusal. "Who is elder?"

"That would be me, ma'am," Mutt told her. With the glass dangling between his fingertips he leaned forward. "But not by much. It seems our father's tastes were insatiable."

Sanford could have killed him. Gretel loved the answer. She nearly purred. "It seems to run in the family." Her long fingers reached out to caress Sanford's knee across the table.

This was going to get out of hand.

"We've gotten all the vistas and permits in order for the trip," he announced as he sat up, shifted away.

"Oh!" Delight was evident on the artistically made-up face. "How soon do you leave?"

"Hopefully by the weekend. There's just the business end of it to tidy up, then we book flights."

She clapped her hands together, rings flashing, at the thought. "I can't wait! Oh, Sanford! There's a party tonight! Downstairs. You must come! My husband can write out the deposit and present the check to you there. You'll meet people - - important people - - and he would love to hear about your plans and what you've discovered so far!"

Sanford knew this to be a bold-faced lie. The man had to know that his wife was an unrepentant cheater bent on keeping that impeccably smooth skin and taut body forever - - no matter what it cost. The man had only been present at the first of their meetings and the younger knew for a fact he'd written the search off as a hoax. But if it kept his wife out of his hair so he could enjoy his mistresses…

"You gotta tux?" Sanford asked as they came down in the elevator.

Mutt rolled his eyes. "Why would I own a tux?"

"For tonight. You're coming, too."

"She didn't invite me."

"She wanted you. She intended me to bring you. You saw it."

That cheered Mutt up. "Jealous?"

San's brows raised. He shook his head.

"Relieved. She scares the bejeezus out of me."

"Is that what she gets out of you?" Mutt snickered. "She seemed to admire those long, lean limbs of yours, my friend."  
"You're welcome to her."

"Not interested anymore?"

"Never was. I'm not sleeping with her. I just want her money and her husband's good name."

"Why not? Gorgeous, blonde, young…that mouth…those hands…what's not to like?"

"Cripes, Mutt. She's gotta be pushing forty if she's not there already."

"No way."

"Way."

He waited, tipping the parking attendant and checking carefully before pulling into traffic.

"Society women are different, Mutt. They take care of themselves differently. Try as hard as they can not to age. Have affairs with younger men - - the tennis pro, the dance instructor, the guy who comes out to shock the pool. All the while trying to stay as young as the pretty little things their husbands are having _their _affairs with."

"You're a bitter man, Sanford," Mutt argued.

"And you're a man in need of a tux."


End file.
